The Man with No Name
by Hermonthis
Summary: Dark Ace/Piper - A letter. The cheapest hotel in a backwater desert dump. "Listen to me." / "No, you're drunk." An experimental story told in a series of vignettes.
1. You weren't supposed to see me this way

A/N: These scenarios are segments of an abandoned multi-chaptered story, and an excuse for me to play with canon. To those who may be confused, I'm experimenting with various writing styles, specifically the use of jarring dialogue. There will be discontinuity and jumps in logic.

Sergio Leone's "The Dollars Trilogy" (Clint Eastwood) and Robert Rodriguez's "Mariachi Trilogy" (Antonio Bandaras) are the major influences for this idea.

* * *

**The Man with No Name**

_( part one: you weren't supposed to see me this way )_

_Three words scribbled on a crumpled napkin._

_Listen to me._

- - -

And he leans heavily against the table, a yellow-tinged drink in his hand that reminds her of piss, and grins at her, showing all of his pearly white teeth. She pushes back her chair, the rough wooden legs screech against the chipped hardwood floor, and places a hand on his shoulder.

Tries to lift him up. Sways unsteadily. A girl and a cheap drunk.

"How many have you had?" is answered with a delayed "No, I'm not." and rolling her eyes up at the ceiling where the mosquitoes and the heat gather together in a humid mass despite the slow-moving fan.

Does anything in this place work?

The bartender raises a hand. Rummaging through his pockets, she grabs a handful of notes and throws them on the counter for the older man to collect. He doesn't ask about the debt, just hands her the key.

She drags him up the stairs. He smells of dirt and sweat and she wrinkles her nose in disgust, ignoring the flippant, uncharacteristic comments that leave his lips and swirl around her ears. More flies.

"Say, you're pretty. Betcha boys line your door."

It means nothing. The words flow like five-cent wine. He is the worldwide traitor to Cyclonia, so logic doesn't really fall in his realm of thought.

The poor man's suite is little more than a broom closet for cockroaches. Strangely fitting.

"Uh, I don't feel so well."

"The bathroom's down the hall."

Her boots go only so far as the bedside table before she drops the dead weight. Frowns when he hits the mattress like a body bag.

"How many of them know?"

"None."


	2. Are you my Carolina?

**The Man With No Name**

_( part two: are you my Carolina?)_

* * *

He snores. Mumbles in his sleep and twitches his eyes.

A deep sleeper, she adds.

Coveting a single high-backed chair in the corner, her back is ramrod straight as the girl tries to make the least amount of contact with anything in the room. Breathes through her nose to filter the foul air. Shudders.

Stork will never touch her again after this.

Sardonic eyes glare at the stranger sprawled out on the bed – flat on his stomach – and almost wishes he'd suffocate himself in the blanket.

Almost.

- - -

_Fancy meeting you here. Shouldn't you be with your team?_

A shrug of the shoulders. A flip of the hair.

_You sent me that letter… you wanted to talk to me._

His upper lip curls up in a sneer when she won't take the bait. Hypocrite. Despite the five o'clock shadow etched on his face, his dental hygiene is impeccable. A gloved hand gestures towards the seat across the table. The leather is faded and cracked.

_Want a drink? I assume you're old enough._

_Only with friends._

There is no need to pressure him, he will splinter in due time. He is like old wood, tarnished and trodden on so many times. She just needs the information he pretends to be privy to.

- - -

She wonders what he must have looked like the first time he came through the hotel doors. Proud? Vain? A rogue. His double-bladed sword hanging off his back, and his right hand twitchy, ready for a good fight.

Blinking to keep awake, the girl stifles a yawn and squints through the dusty blinds of the window. Still daylight. Bored with not much else to do, she plays games with herself.

Behind the dresser, sunlight glints off the neck of an old wine bottle, telling her much more than she needs to know.

How long has he been hiding here?


	3. Cruel Morning

**The Man With No Name**

_( part three: cruel morning )_

* * *

First thing he does when he wakes up is throw up on the bed.

The second thing he does is open his bloodshot eyes. Rubs the back of his hand against his cracked lips, and spits out something nasty. Calls her name.

_Piper?_

The chair is empty.

- - -

Grabbing him by the roots of his thick, black hair, she grits her teeth and dunks his head into the basin for the third time.

"GRRRRUUGHHH!"

Arms and legs thrashing wildly, he pushes against the porcelain sink, splashing water over the mirror and his careless hands spill some on the floor. Their boots skid against the linoleum, but she doesn't let go.

"Is this how you expect me to _trust you_?" she shouts into his ear, before drowning him again, "Did you think I would honestly believe a man who spends his life drinking?"

She releases her hold and he throws his head back, mouth open, gasping for breath.

"Why do you insist on _wasting my time_!"

- - -

Same room, different bedding. Actually, no bedding at all. The solitary house maid is informed immediately. She hobbles around other rooms, a garbage bag in her hands. Poor aged thing.

But he is sitting in _her_ chair. And she is pacing in front of _him._

_"I'm not thanking you for waking me up."_

_"Sure you're not."_

The girl is ninety-five percent sure she should have left hours ago and rubs her hands over her face furiously. Stupid, gullible Piper. Trusting Cyclonians left and right. Fool me once, fool me twice.

She should close her heart more often; her compassion will only lead her to more trouble.

Someone knocks on the door and his head, still sopping wet, shoots up in alarm.

"_Don't open it. Don't you even dare."_

She snorts. _"Sure thing… why?"_

"_I owe a debt."_


	4. You dropped the Queen of Hearts

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Four: You dropped the Queen of Hearts )_

* * *

_When he closes his eyes, he can almost see her again._

_Then again, that only happens when he's dead drunk._

He leans his forehead against her shoulder, stumbles and holds her by the elbow. Such a sweet girl; too bad her heart is so big. He's seen it before; they're always the first thing to be broken.

Orange eyes, blue hair. He can tell she has only gone so far as to have her arteries pricked. Not with a needle, but a thumbtack. The kind that school kids use to pin their crayon drawings up on the classroom wall.

_Blah blah blah._

The girl's mouth opens and closes. He giggles when he imagines her looking like a fish.

Pretty blue girl whips her hair and glares. He dares to put his dirty hand on her waist?!

Bastard.

_Blah blabbity blah._

C'mon little fishy. Come on, make my day.

"Take your hands off of me."

_Yes, that's it._

"_You say it the exact same way."_ A heavy cloud touches her neck. It's his breath. A mouth like hot sand from the dunes.

"_The same way as what?"_

Grins like a Cheshire cat with mood swings that Stork would avoid for a lifetime.

_If your skin was lighter, if your eyes were a different colour…_

Nonsense again. Brain all muddled-fuddled in his mind. The girl shakes her head in exasperation and reprimands his bad behaviour. At least he's not throwing up this time.

"_She was a sweetheart. Always told me to go to bed early --_

_-- The only one who knew a good joke from the bad."_

Is it her imagination or did he just smell her neck? No, can't be.

"_You smile the exact same way."_

They stop. The mechanic shop lies ahead.

"_Are you listening to me, Piper?"_

Feels his hand squeeze around her most precious organ. Feels it pumping hard and fast.

"_And I loved her."_


	5. The things that I've done

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Five: The things that I've done )_

* * *

_"What did you do this time? How much do you owe?"_

Crimson eyes flash at her, his fingers jerk by his side. He's a dangerous, moody man.

_"Where do you think I got all the money to buy my booze?"_

**- - -**

It's like an action movie, the kind that Finn likes to watch on Saturday nights. Shooting imaginary bullets with his finger-guns, he goes _PEW-PEW! _at all the bad guys on the movie screen when they come to collect the good guy's debt before knocking out the girl and taking her to the big boss.

But this ain't no cinema, honey. And the man in question? He ain't no hero.

"Where's my goddamn blade!" He yells as the door to his bedroom comes crashing down behind them. He peers around the corner, grabbing his neck with a hand. Almost scared. Three burly-looking guys with tailored business suits and four spider-like legs spill into the hallway, polished clubs in their hands.

The Colonel's come to collect.

_Shit. Shit. SHIT!_

He panics. Hisses like a rattlesnake with venom spitting everywhere. _"My sword, woman! Where did you put it?"_ Flipping a lock of wet hair away from his face, he roughly pushes her into the next motel room. Ignores when her knees hit the floor.

"What did you do?" she cries, grabbing his hand as he overturns a table and crouches down behind it.

They shouldn't be shouting. It gives their position away.

"_They know I'm here._"

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. His boots stir up the dust bunnies on the floorboards as he plows his way through the spiders, using the shoulder of the first man to launch himself into the air and over their heads. Smirks. Still graceful.

Smashes his head against the metal frame when he gropes for his blade underneath the stinkin' bed.

Needs a Prairie Oyster.

The girl screams. They have her.


	6. Just like starting over

**The Man With No Name**

_( part six: just like starting over )_

* * *

**One.**

_Stop it woman! I don't need you to take care of me!_

_Shut up and close your mouth._

**Two.**

_What the hell do you think you're doing? And where are you going?_

_I hate you. You stink. You handed me over to those men over a cheap bottle of wine. You sold me to The Colonel to pay off your debt._

_But I got you back._

_Only because you wouldn't get any extra money out of it._

Splutters and grabs her arm to twist it around her back. But she's faster, and sober, and easily side-steps his clumsy moves with a kick that sends him tumbling back into the shower.

**Three.**

She's not kidding. She'll do it for real.

_No! Anything but that! _

Murder in her eyes. Hardly any trust in him at all.

Bitch.

Loser.

Whore.

Drunk.

He lets loose a string of profanity as she pulls on the rope and the shower head explodes with a spray of the coldest, most brutal motel shower in the history of the world.

It doesn't help when he has all his clothes on.


	7. Seduction

**The Man With No Name**

_( part seven: seduction )_

* * *

He plays the guitar like nobody's business. It's almost enchanting, the way he bends over the neck of the instrument, and closes his eyes as if he can hear the music streaming before his fingers touch the strings. Piper wonders if the guitar is a she, judging from the way he stroked her slender wooden body and lifted her gently from her black, velvet case.

Calloused hands, rough from years of military training, betray his agile swiftness as his tilts his ear towards the soundboard, listening to any whines of her distress as he tweaks the tuning heads to adjust her singing.

_Hand me my tuning fork,_ he says and lays out his left palm impatiently. Flustered by his bluntness, Piper unzips the compartment and searches for the metal object.

_Not there_, he answers hotly, making her blush uncomfortably under his gaze, _it's in that little box in the middle. _

Her fingernail guides the latch to the side and the hatch opens. His hand is incredibly warm when Piper passes the tuning fork to him, and frowns when his red eyes don't spare a glance her way.

_How long have you been playing?_

For many years.

_Who taught you to play?_

Myself.

_Will you play something for me?_

Dark Ace shifts his entire body thirty degrees to the left, the acoustic guitar safe between his knees, and unsettles her with an "_I just swallowed a canary"_-like grin.

_Of course._

Rapping the tuning fork against his knee, the metal prongs whine loudly as he places it against the body of the guitar, and adjusts the strings accordingly. Under his direction, the instrument starts to sing beautifully. The girl stares in amazement as the man guides the music with just his fingers, his dark face deep in concentration, and plays the first ten bars of _malaguena_.


	8. On the Run

**The Man With No Name**

_( part eight: on the run )_

* * *

They walked into the bar just like Hollywood. _So much for flying under the radar_, she thought, _I bet this place is crawling with bounty hunters with a poster of his face on their walls_. Hanging back half a pace behind, Piper tried to stay in Dark Ace's shadow as the older man swaggered towards the bartender slash motel owner, and without preamble, immediately asked for the keys to the best room.

"This your wife?" the bearded man asked, wiping the inside of a shot glass with a clean cloth. Rolling his eyes over the back wall, the ex-Talon was glad to see their liquor collection was better stocked than his own. "Sweet thing looks out of place with the rest of us."

Swiping his index finger across the counter, he pointed towards the man and chuckled, ignoring the glare of indignation registered across his companion's face. His voice was smooth as he replied, "No. She's too young."

The girl played along as they turned around the corner, and he unlocked the door to their honeymoon suite, still hating the act. Giving a little chivalrous bow before ushering her in, she adjusted the sleeves of her disguise and desperately hoped to find some better clothes lying around. It unnerved her when the men stared at the top part of her exposed back.

"Happy anniversary." Beating her to the bed, he threw himself backwards on the sheets and blew out some air. "I wonder when happy time opens."

Her favourite pair of boots, which she insisted on keeping, paced the floor as the girl searched her mind for a string of rationality in this crazy ride, sneaking and hiding amongst the southwestern quadrant of Atmos. It was unlikely The Colonel sent his men after them, discouraged from their last encounter when Dark Ace clumsily rescued her from human trafficking, and pondered who else was desperate enough to place a price on the man's head.

"Haven't you figured it out already?" he muttered from his resting spot. "It's Master Cyclonis."


	9. Only love can break your heart

A/N: Spontaneous ficlet. Written in ten minutes while I was listening to Neil Young and writing the next chapter of Lady with the Lamp.

**The Man With No Name**

_( part nine: only love can break your heart )_

* * *

If you asked him why he left, he'd merely gaze at you with blank, emotionless eyes. He gave no vocal reason for his betrayal, merely rolled the sunshine-yellow crystal in his right hand that rested on his lap.

"Bartender. Give me another one."

His physical appearance was unsettling. Smudges of dirt marked his hollow cheeks and fingerprints marred the tarnished helmet. Sitting in the corner of the room, none of the other regulars dared approach the newcomer with the dry, desert eyes. He was a man possessed, consumed with a fierce inner demon that the locals dared not tangle with. Not even for the high price his jewel would fetch.

_Rogue._

No one was quite sure when he first arrived. The miners whispered amongst each other, huddled over the unpolished tabletops, and used the salt shaker as makeshift microphone. Whoever held it had the right to speak.

"I say he's a murderer. No one comes in here without blood on their hands."

"A bounty hunter waiting for his last ride."

Whatever the reason, the rumours of the man's appearance spread to the rest of the village. More curious men came by the shady establishment to catch a glimpse of the shadow that possessed the darkest the corner of the saloon. When pressured to kick him out, the owner shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and hollered for his assistant to wait outside for the next shipment of beer. Terra Tundra ale.

The stranger stayed. Business increased when he was around – almost reached celebrity status – who was he to complain?

The drunken phantom only spoke when his glass was empty. He left early in the morning, before the cock crowed, and the milkman wondered if he was in cahoots with someone else in town. Sightings of a dark purple skimmer circulated amongst the children, whose loud whispers spread to their older sisters and passed on to their mothers, who then told their husbands that night.

He was here for a reason.

Or he was looking for something to stop the pain.


	10. Cascade

**The Man With No Name**

_( part ten: cascade )_

* * *

He left the room dark.

Dark Ace had just gotten back from wherever he came, opened the door to their room quietly, and stripped off his outer clothes before heading to the adjacent bathroom for a long shower. Glancing over at Piper, who remained asleep on the bed, he hung his dust-covered clothes over the back of a chair, but not before he hid a bulging rucksack underneath.

"_Are you going to hurt me?"_

"_No. I'm not going to do anything to you."_

"_But why – why would you keep me –"_

"_In my profession, it is unwise to cross those who may be allies to you. Besides, I would like to extend an invitation to your resident wallop for another eating contest I shall sponsor soon."_

(She grasped the undercurrent of the subtle-yet-dangerous delegations The Colonel offered her, and decided to look at the cards she held in her hands.)

"_What do you want?"_

"_Information. I want to know what the Dark Ace is up to, who he corresponds with, and what sort of treasure he holds."_

"_And the crystal?"_

(The spider's eyes shone suspiciously, then turned his head in the other direction and signaled for one of his guards to arrange a suitable meal for the skinny girl. Give or take two hours, he expected the hapless ex-Talon to crash through one of his cherished stained-glass windows and demand her back.)

"_I never mentioned a crystal. I am sure you must be confused, but please understand I prefer to operate my business in a free world."_

"_I understand."_

The sound of rushing water reached her ears and Piper's eyes snapped open; she had not been sleeping at all. The chair beckoned to her, luring her with a crooked finger.

She slipped out of bed. Searched his pockets for keys, blueprints, even fake identity papers – anything that might give her a clue where he disappeared off to each morning.


	11. Red Eye

A/N: References to Cowboy Bebop and Mikahil Bulgakov's "The Heart of a Dog".

**The Man With No Name**

_( part eleven: red eye )_

* * *

Repton looks at the posters plastered against the walls of the thieves' hideout and sneers. No scum worth his weight is interested in Pin-Money these days. The greenhorns huddle in groups of three or four at the tables, while the seasoned veterans pass each other in the halls, and discreetly transfer small scraps of paper between closed palms. Silent whispers into patient ears.

Master Cyclonis has connections to even the most obscure of cesspools, spreading her message to the far reaches of Atmos.

Spitz comes up behind him; his claws wrapped around two items he hands over to his elder brother. The former is a blown-up wanted poster, while the latter is a flyer that looks suspiciously like a poor imitation of the cover of a portfolio. Stretching out the papers, the lizard hisses and reads them both. Generic information. Big money. The traitor is better off dead.

- - -

_Acquisition:_ 'the Dark Ace.' (real name undisclosed)_  
Age: _32._  
Nationality: _Unknown.

Former commander of the Talons, ex-champion of Cyclonia. Deserter. Not a sky knight, but may be sympathetic to the party. Pilots a customized Talon Switchblade Elite, colour red, wields a double-handed long blade sword usually equipped with a red striker crystal.

(half of the page is a detailed sketch of his face, this one is already desecrated with a black felt tip pen)

Tall 6'3''; lean, athletic shape. Sharp features with a pointed nose and chin. Ruthless. Murderer.  
(a) black hair  
(b) red eyes.

Last seen on walking alone towards a Cyclonian military base camp on Terra Bluster. March 25, 8:49 pm. Weapon and skimmer missing. Wore a standard red and green Talon uniform. Do not engage in aerial battle. (underlined three times) Reward negotiable. Master hunters only.

_Repton switches the pieces of paper and compares the drawing with the wanted poster. The latter is less flattering._

(there are puncture marks on the poster; Spitz's claws)  
(also obscene doodles)  
(near the bottom, someone even wrote in large, block letters: _Fuck you!!)_

_Bounty_: 2.5 Million Woolongs

(in heavy lettering) **Wanted Alive.**


	12. Ghost

**The Man With No Name**

_( part twelve: ghost )_

* * *

_Let me hold your hand._

_Let me twirl you around the floor._

_Let me look into your eyes,_

_Let me love you more._

"You're one of the best things that's happened to me," he confesses, his eyelids weary with lack of sleep and heavy with drunk.

Piper nods automatically as she drags his feet along the dusty floor, the points of his boots digging small valleys in the ground. The man's been mumbling since they left the motel, and her shoulder blades ache terribly. More of a hindrance than a help, his mouth is an endless fountain of slurred words as they make another innocuous disappearing act from yet another ghost town.

"When this is over, you're going to leave me, aren't you?" Piper nods again and lifts him onto a chair in the repair shop. They're safe here, at least, she hopes so – the mechanic is a former Talon.

Seven days of personal experience, but the task is no easier than it was the first time. A grown man is still hard to carry.

"If I get all better, can I keep you?" Grins. Shows all his teeth and exhales a lungful of bad breath as Dark Ace topples over the swivel chair and falls into her arms. Coughing to get the stink out of her face, the girl stumbles backwards and settles leaving the man on the ground. Seeking warmth, his arms wrap around the metal bar that holds up the seat.

Smushes his face against his knee.

A long-suffering sigh escapes her lips. She's so tired. But there is more to do before she can catch some sleep, and one of them has to stay awake.

With a strange pang of regret, she opens the garage door, and heads towards the back of the motel, to retrieve her backpack and his sword.


	13. Sympathy for the Devil

**The Man With No Name**

_( part thirteen: sympathy for the devil )_

* * *

_**I don't know who I am anymore.**_

_I could feel the anger rise up inside me with little reason. _

I need help, I know I do. Even Ravess looks at me differently.

And Snipe. Snipe's stupid. But even he knows the limits of what I can do. Memo for later.

Didn't go to bed until eight in the morning. Slept the day away. I don't even check my mailbox anymore, I'm scared of what I'll find inside.

Nobody should be living like this. I guzzle beer like a fish. My pockets are loose.

So I took it. Make her hurt for the way she treated me.

She's just a kid.

**One day, maybe I'll look back at all of this and laugh. No, I'm not entitled to.**

_I've killed her. It was an accident. _

When I grow up, I want to be a sky knight.

The world is coming to a close, and I want to be there for it. See everyone screaming, crying, laughing. I know what she's up to, and I'm a part of it. Nope, not anymore. She can take her sorry purple ass somewhere else. I've got my own problems to deal with.

_Master will never forgive me._

Sleep is always good.

_**Crying in the bathroom again. **_Woke up to the stench of my vomit and sweat. Ravess was behind me, holding up my head as I reacquaint myself with the toilet seat. Tears and snot. Great. She's nice.

Wrote a letter to Piper finally. Started the telegraph with the words: "To my sweetheart…" Sent it in the mail two weeks ago. I think. Maybe four months. Who knows, time is a blur when you can't even eat breakfast. Breakfast for margaritas. Oh look, a pen and some stamps. (Believe me, it wasn't for her.)

Guess I really did send that letter.

_Not._

**Have to get out of here. Gotta run. **

The desert sand tastes gritty in my mouth. Well, of course it does. There's purple paint underneath my fingernails. Thinking about growing out my hair to become unrecognizable. Been hiding out in the boonies for six months, living off side-jobs here and there. Guard dog. Courier. Even packing houses on Terra Gale.

I like it here the best.


	14. Picking Up Bad Habits

**The Man With No Name**

_( part fourteen: picking up bad habits )_

* * *

Humans, Merb, and Wallop alike were shocked, their shoulders curved inwards in fear, as their ears bled with the string of profanities that came from the kitchen. They hung around in the hallway, out of her sight, and cringed with each new colourful word.

Pots and pans clattered loudly on the counter, cabinets and drawers were yanked open as Piper rearranged the eating utensils to her preference. Whose brilliant idea was it to put the plates on top of the cereal bowls? Why hasn't the blender been taken apart and cleaned? Did they think the forks and knives would take care of themselves? And for heaven's sakes! Close the bread box after you've made some toast!

Balling up her fists, the girl screwed her eyes shut, and screamed. She was gone for about three weeks, and _this _is what she comes home to?

Radarr clapped his paws over his long fuzzy ears as Aerrow commented on the obvious. "Uh, guys. Piper's really mad."

"Y'think?"

Stork raised his hand. "So… all those in favour of hiding out in the storage room until Armageddon arrives?"

"C'mon. Give her a couple of hours and she can't be that bad."

"Aerrow, buddy. You have a lot to learn about women."

Another shrill scream and Junko tapped his fingers together, looking embarassed. The other boys craned their necks upwards and silently asked the question. What had he done?

"I might have forgotten to throw out the old juice… and left some empty containers in the fridge." They all winced.

"Remember guys, Piper's probably still really stressed from the whole ordeal, or else she wouldn't be like this."

The blond snorted derisively. "Tell me about it. Girl's on a rampage. I think she picked a few habits from the Dark Ace or she developed new ones. Piper took one look at the bathroom and bam! Started swearing as high as the moon. You should have seen how _clean_ the place was after she'd finished with it. Totally creepy. Even the towels _sparkled."_


	15. Life in the Fast Lane

**The Man With No Name**

_( part fifteen: life in the fast lane )_

* * *

She didn't like the feel of his arms around her, physical contact made her nervous. Dark Ace's unrestrained laughter hurt her ears as they drove across the barren wilderness with nothing but cactuses and old train tracks for company. Twenty minutes of riding and her throat was parched. Arid desert air devoid of moisture. The midday sun beat down on her dark skin. Dehydration.

Her supposed saviour was so overjoyed, so overwhelmed with himself that he let go of the handlebars and shot his fist into the air. Through her blue uniform, she could feel his sweat-stained skin and silently wished for the sky to rain. The engine roared when Dark Ace shifted the center of gravity and lifted the front wheel of the skyride. Show off.

"Hah! Did you see that, Piper? Not one blow on me or my baby. The way I glided across that waxed floor, right between The Colonel's legs… and the look on his face!"

The girl's heart beat wildly as her hands automatically clutched at his arm holding her in place. The skimmer reared on its hind wheel, performed wicked tricks and turns on the cracked ground. Kicked up a mighty dust storm.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Alarms were going off in her head. Dark Ace's mannerisms strongly reminded her of Finn's, and that wasn't always good.

"Do you think we could slow down a bit?" she hollered apprehensively.

"Why? There's nobody to here to catch us."

"EXACTLY!"

Stork's prophecies of inevitable doom manifested itself when one of the tires bumped up against a jutting rock and the bike swerved out of control, and flipped over several times. Lurching forward, Piper felt Dark Ace's body envelop hers as they were caught up in the momentum, and yelped when the earth became the sky then became the earth again. Strong arms tightened around her waist, constricting her lungs, and felt her entire body lifted out of the seat and thrown onto the ground.

Luckily, they sustained no major injuries – just shortness of breath. Pumped with adrenaline and perhaps a slight case of post-traumatic shock, the girl stared blankly at the man hovering above her. Completely winded.

And he _laughed_.

"Oops."


	16. Allies

**The Man With No Name**

_( part sixteen: allies )_

* * *

Faroe yanks Dark Ace's head out of the water and allows the man a single breath before drowning his face once again. There are two buckets on the heavy metal table: one is ice-cold while the other is steaming hot. Piper peeks around the corner of the garage door, taking extreme precaution not to let her striking blue hair or her fingers show, and gnaws on her lower lip in sympathy. She is supposed to be sleeping, catching up on her rest before Dark Ace commands they leave again. But the screams of pain coming from the shop are too much of a temptation.

The mechanic frightens her a lot.

It's not in the way he treats her, not really. To the girl, he has been all smiles and hospitality. Welcomed her with open (motor oil. greasy) arms and ushered her into his cramped kitchen for flapjacks and bacon, along with a tall glass of milk.

"For the bones," said the man with the light chestnut hair. He grinned, and scratched the back of his neck. The Switchblade was almost done.

But now, witnessing Dark Ace's primitive method of alcoholic therapy, Piper cranes her hear around the corner a little more to listen to their words. Not that she needs to, their conversation is as loud as day.

The Talon-turned-mechanic is ruthless in his delivery. One after another, he shouts into Dark Ace's ear for his stupidity. Bringing a girl into the equation to solve his mess. Leaving her alone in dirty motel rooms while he goes off drinking. Selling her to gangsters for pocket money. What an utter disgrace.

"_Did you tell her you're sorry?"_

"_No."_

"_She deserves a lot better than to hang out with the likes of you, you pathetic son of a bitch. She should be with her friends, not half-starved in my shop!"_

"_I – _(Piper can hear Dark Ace splutter and choke) - _I need her. Crystals."_

That evening, Piper feigns a deep sleep on the couch, hugging the thick blanket around her body, pulling it up to her chin. The men are sitting on chairs, drinking hot ginger water with honey, and she hears one of them get up.

"Have you heard from Snipe at all? Your sisters? _Ravess_?"

There is a tense pause in the air. Maybe some bad blood.

"I don't know your motives, Dark Ace. I don't want to know them. I left Cyclonia because I'm a godless man, territory means nothing to me. But you're cut differently. You still have that loyalty. I'm not much older than you, but I can still tell." Faroe's voice lowers to a whisper before both men turn their gaze towards their sleeping guest.

Piper pretends to snore and the mechanic picks up his speech again.

"I left my family because I wanted to be a free man. I left behind a good future for that. _When_ Master Cyclonis finally gets her claws on you and what you stole, how are you going to save yourself?"

"Easy. I trade."

* * *

A/N: Next chapter of Lady with the Lamp is done, but not beta'd yet. Spent last night regurgitating a bad fajita. D:


	17. Hearth

**The Man With No Name**

_( part seventeen: hearth )_

* * *

Tuesday morning, Dark Ace sleeps in by accident.

Tuesday afternoon, he's sweating so bad he can sprinkle the entire desert terra with his perspiration. He lifts tires for the mechanic, stacks them one over the other. Each tower is eighteen wheels high. Then, he takes them down, one at a time, washes them clean with a worn brush, a bucket, and rough soap - the rubber dries quickly and he has to start another tower.

Wednesday, at the crack of dawn, Faroe kicks the Talon awake. Gives him a Prairie Oyster for breakfast to fight the shakes. Piper wakes up to the sound of booze going down the drain. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, the question dies on her lips as the older man stares at her hard.

Don't look. Don't ask.

Thursday evening, and Piper is feeling much healthier with the nourishing food her host makes. Tonight, she eats dinner alone and takes her plate filled with baked potatoes, steamed vegetables, and hard boiled eggs to the couch. Tunes in to the local radio.

The men are in the shop, training again.

The girl eats her food slowly, thoughtfully, chewing through every bite and makes sure to savour each delicious taste. Who knows what will happen tomorrow? Dark Ace might uproot her any second. Although his rigorous fitness schedule is made to benefit him, it is dictated by the other man.

Something about learning to fight again. Something about the bottle.

Piper wipes the last of the barbecue sauce with her finger and licks it clean. Extremely tasty. She laughs to herself when she realizes the mechanic has not served pork and beans yet.

Washes her plate in the sink. Leaves them to dry.

She pours herself a glass of water from the refrigerator since Dark Ace does not recommend drinking straight from the tap, and settles back down on her couch slash bed and wraps the blanket around herself. Full and warm.

And is sleeping by the time the men return.


	18. The Fragrance of Magnolias

**The Man With No Name**

_( part eighteen: the fragrance of magnolias )_

* * *

One body in exchange for another.

In her sleep, she dreams she will never see her family again. Claw-like hands grip her by the waist as she tries to hold onto a miniature of the Condor. A merciless laugh. Someone buries his face into the area between her shoulder blades, and mockingly kisses her back.

_The bidding for the Storm Hawk starts now._

It's the Colonel. He's made a deal with the Colonel.

_Why my dear girl,_ the spider chuckles in his deep Spanish accent, _I never thought I would see you again._

She is in the sky, her feet dangling in mid-air as the familiar aerial terrain grows smaller and smaller. Her betrayer is dragging her down to the earth, stealing her for his own nefarious purposes.

_Does this female mean anything to you, Dark Ace? Because she would fetch more than just a pretty price with such a pretty face. If you give her to me now, consider your debt repaid in full._

It isn't just a dream. Is it for real? The girl stirs on the couch and kicks the armrest. Her subconscious mind remembers. At home, there is an encrypted letter. A vacation with the face of a bold lie. She doesn't belong in the tundras, why did she come?

Back in the Colonel's abode, her amber eyes widen in shock. He wouldn't – he couldn't! Even a traitor such as he has some sort of moral code. The black haired man inspects his fingers before biting a hangnail on his left thumb.

_What about the principal interest? What about the cost?_

_Trivial necessities for a businessman. Easily taken care of, I assure you._

Dark Ace will never give her up. He promised. The scene changes and the brightly lit stucco walls melt into the dark grey caverns of the Cyclonian empire. The surrounding air is still hot, but not natural. Concentrated. Processed. He holds a fading yellow Zircon stone in his hand, the surface horribly latticed with peculiar markings, and Piper in the other.

_Is this your payment for your errors? Why should I accept her._

_My apologies, my Master. I was in the wrong._

The girl topples forward. Piper's worst nightmares combine into one.

_Sold._


	19. Gideon's Bible

A/N: The title is a reference to the song "Rocky Raccoon". This drabble is exactly three hundred words long.

**The Man With No Name**

_( part nineteen: gideon's bible )_

* * *

"Come on," the mechanic looked down his nose at his beaten opponent. "Get up and do it again."

Dark Ace snarled, chewed something nasty in his mouth and spat out a wad of blood on the dusty ground. He wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his hand, and smeared the rest on his clothes. Acknowledging the other man's skill, he picked up his staff and spread his feet slightly apart, his chest leaning forward. Defensive moves are not his forte, but he is horribly out of practice. If he went up against Master Cyclonis now, for sure he would die within the hour.

Gripping the metal bar with both hands, he is forced back as Faroe launched himself forward and attacked. There is a cold concentration in his eyes that used to belong to the black-haired man. The former Talon instructor aimed for his shins, his chest, before he whirled around and smashed the pole into the back of his knees. Dark Ace cried out in pain. Fell to the ground. Immobilized again.

Once upon a time, Dark Ace used to be aggressive. His moves were sharp and fast; and no sky knight he battled, whether it was in the air or on the ground, could beat him. Victory was inevitable. But that arrogance built up over the years and he no longer fought to survive, to prove something to the sky council. He just fought for fun, relied on edgy taunts backed up with the strength of his sword. But with his mind reeling from alcoholic withdrawal and guilt, there is little glory left when the previous champion of Cyclonia has to relearn the basics of combat training. He was in the prime of his life, nothing could be more humiliating.

The truth hurts like a bitch.


	20. Clementine

**The Man With No Name**

_( part twenty: clementine )_

* * *

At home, Piper feels more morose than the time she left the fugitive Talons. She is crankier, more irritable and pays attention to the most minute of accidents. The scrape on Finn's elbow might have been avoided if the sharpshooter was more attentive to the pointed tip of his arrows, and Radarr might not be feeling so sick if he hadn't gorged himself on the cookies. Preventing cuts and bruises is her current obsession, along with her compulsive tendency to keep everything clean and tidy. She is mother to the extreme.

She tells the guys that her change in mood is just a side effect to her wild adventures in the badlands, and they believe her. It feels awful to lie to them twice in a row, although it is clear that they know her supposed trip to visit some distant relatives is all a ploy. Aerrow is just glad to see her safe. They trust her too much, and it eats at her conscience.

Inside her backpack, there is a tin of canned meat, an empty flask of water, a change of clothes and some maps. Reminders of her time in the tundras. Guilt overcomes her, and her mind flashes back to her last nights spent at the shop. There is a roasted pig on a spit, a man playing the violin, and a crackling campfire.

The first and last dance.

Piper looks down at her hand, and frowns at the yellow crystal she stole.


	21. Sweet Baby James

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Twenty-One: Sweet Baby James )_

* * *

_You and I, we don't go well together._

He guessed it was to be expected. She never really had a reason to stick around anyways. Not with him.

_So, you sent that letter. What do you want?_

He didn't have a plan in mind. All he wanted was someone to listen to him. Nothing was lucid at that time; he was too far gone to think beyond the next week.

_Are you looking for protection? Security? _

She knew that he was a traitor, almost all the sky knights did.

_You're going to kill yourself doing that._

Damn her sex. Damn all women. They always played him for a sucker.

_The white blouse and the blue checkered skirt she wore when he danced with her._

"Faroe!" he roared. "Where's my goddamn blade?"

_He even cut his hair for the occasion. Trimmed his sideburns to perfection._

"I'm not your keeper. Look in your mother-fucking room!"

_Why is it grown men always seemed more genteel around a lady?_

"It's not there. That little bitch probably took it too."

_She wore studded belt around her waist and cute brown shoes to match. He wore something ridiculous that reminded him of a mariachi suit._

"Never mind. I found it."

_She smelled like… he didn't know. Piper reminded him of desert flowers and open air. _

The mechanic appeared in the doorway in full professional regalia, his hands inked with oil and grease. Nodding at the Talon, he asked bluntly.

"What'cha gonna do when you find her?"

Dark Ace snarled and banged his fist down into the middle of the bed. The frame shuddered. Betrayed again.

"I'm gonna kill her."


	22. Back to the House that Love Built

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Twenty-Two: Back to the House that Love Built )_

* * *

"I need to remember what I came here for. Love or mercy keeps me at your door_._"

(Tito and Tarantula_, Desperado_ soundtrack)

- - -

Once the anger subsides all that is left is a hard shell, similar to that of a rough diamond. A diamond that is ready to kill.

Only three hours until departure – until he leaves this place and goes after her.

In the bathroom, Dark Ace places his hands on either side of the porcelain sink and stares hard into the mirror. There are slight bags under his eyes, but overall, he is in good shape and better than several months before.

He turns the faucet on, one knob at a time, and the plumbing squeaks with the water pressure. Cupping his hand underneath the flow, he splashes two handfuls over his face and mouth; strokes his jaw and inspects the white scar just underneath his chin. Sticking his hand under the faucet, he runs his right hand through his black hair while the other shuts the water off.

The man is a Talon again. He wears the uniform.

Patting his face dry with the towel, he yanks open the door and heads towards the spare bedroom. When he turns the corner and the couch appears at the end of the hallway, his brow dips into a frown and his lips resemble a taut line of disdain.

Sheaths his sword. Tugs at the looseness of his clothes and is thankful for his mediocre sewing skills.

Puts on his metal headpiece and finally feels complete. Like a man adjusting his belt, slipping the latch into a new hole, the title (I am the Dark Ace) rolls around thick and heavy on his tongue. The man in the mirror is who he is meant to be.

He supposes all the hours of sweating on the hard, red dirt is the reason why his body is no longer polluted with toxins. Maybe there is a lesson to learn from all his running and hiding from terra to terra.

First on the docket is figuring out whether the girl is reunited with her friends. He can't imagine her stealing someone else's sky ride so he assumes that someone else is helping her. Heliscooters are not worth much, but one that belongs to a Storm Hawks might be worth a crown or two, depending on the buyer.

Dark Ace's lips curl into a sinister smile.

The Colonel better shut all his windows. There's a storm a'comin.


	23. Sand, Ink, Blood

**The Man With No Name**

_( Part Twenty-Three: Sand, Ink, Blood )_

* * *

The crystal is no longer on the Condor. The Zircon stone is with Piper - and as fate would have it, the girl is no longer on the Condor. Dark Ace pushed the red-haired boy aside and kicked open all the doors until he came across her personal quarters. Starts shouting something about two handwritten letters and immediately started tearing up her bed. His gloved hands threw the pillow and the blankets unceremoniously against the wall; he uprooted the mattress just to make sure she didn't hide his messages under there.

Finn shoved past Aerrow and started shouting at the intruder. They only let him on board because he handed over his sword and swore not to inflict any harm. One would assume destruction of personal property counted as part of the deal.

"Aha! Found it!" Two letters were hidden inside the pillowcase, and both stink of smoke and gin. The first is a whiskey-induced confession about a lost love, (when the boys weren't looking, he stuffed it down the front of his shirt) and the second one is a message for her.

_Piper,  
__Meet me at the Yellow River Motel on Terra Saharr two weeks from today. I have some information you will find useful. Come alone or the deal is off.  
Dark Ace._

The blond gripped his shoulder and yanked him around, demanding payment for the damage. The Talon ignored him, took two steps, and stopped right in front of Aerrow. A grown man against a teenage boy – the difference in height and body mass is intimidating.

The young leader didn't back down. Dark Ace smirked. How typical. They're allies for now, but only until the crystal is reclaimed and the boys get their precious navigator back.

Aerrow spoke.

"Where is Repton taking her?"


	24. Deuces are Wild

**The Man With No Name**

_( Part Twenty-Four: Deuces are Wild )_

* * *

If she's hurt, he could care less. All he wants is the stone and his freedom.

He ignores the unhappy looks on their faces as he preps his machine and hears the familiar purr of her engine. His sky ride is in better condition than theirs; she is bigger and better and has more experience. However, the downside to having a customized Switchblade is the weight. While his vehicle can withstand violent shocks in battle, she requires more care when riding across slippery surfaces or executing complicated maneuvers in wake of the young sky knight, Aerrrow.

The tension in the air is palpable, but not thick as fog. The Storm Hawks surround him, their own rides roar obnoxiously and he is sure the blonde is in need of a new muffler (goddamn kids, do they want _everyone_ to know where they are?) because the exhaust noise is insufferable. The desert and canyons are a natural home to bounty hunters; they need all the quiet they can get.

"Um, where are we going?" The wallop scratches his ear and tries to hide the fact that he just asked the Dark Ace an indirect question. Not that he minds; the less he has to talk to these teenagers, the better. He will not tell them where they are headed, at least, not yet. He doubts any treachery on their behalf, but it's better to be cautious. God knows he hasn't been cautious enough if it was this easy for Repton to find him.

Well, _her._

"I believe Repton thinks I'm going to rescue your little friend." They all deploy their wings and take to the air. Aerrow and Finn fly slightly ahead of him, flanking his sides, while the wallop hangs around in the back.

"So it's a trap."

Dark Ace rolls his eyes at the obvious. Of course it's an ambush, what other purpose does the girl serve other than bait? As much as the lizard might be tempted to snack on her bones or turn her over to Master Cyclonis, the bounty on his head is much more alluring; not to mention the bragging rights his former colleague will obtain once word gets out Repton single-handedly dispatched the traitor to Cyclonia. Piper's capture is just her bad luck.

He imagines clutching the crystal in his hand. Somehow, the warm, yellow shine doesn't seem all that enticing now.

The blonde ("Finn!" He exclaims, "My name is Finn!" _Right._) drifts closer to his right side.

"So, I heard you have major issues with tonics. You can't handle strong waters. Huh."

If he wasn't under oath, he might have punched the boy. Dark Ace grinds his teeth.

"What makes you say that?" That little tramp. Spreading his shame and embarrassment far and wide, babbling her little mouth against the shape of their ears. And to think she remained with him all that time - dragging his drunken ass from one motel to the next, dunking his head in bathroom sinks and all that jazz.

"Because when Piper came back, she stank of gin."

Well, this was news. Trying to look nonchalant, he slides the question under the radar. (Remember, she means nothing to you.)

"She didn't tell you anything?"

The Storm Hawk throws his hands in the air in exasperation. "No way man! That girl's lips were tighter than the stick shoved up Harrier's ass!"


	25. Maverick

A/N: Although this experimental fanfic was conceived with no clear end in sight, I'm starting to formulate a possible ending.

**The Man with No Name**_  
_

_( Part Twenty-Five: Maverick )_

* * *

Every bloody thing that went wrong in his life was because of women. And crystals. He might have added booze into the mix - only that the amber liquid didn't provide such a blessed liberation that made the hours go by like minutes and made his mind go numb with pleasure. A sweet and dark intoxication.

In the rare moment his mind was almost (but never truly) lucid, water leaked from his eyes from the great pressure in his head. His pulse would dance to the sound of an beating drum and he's tear apart the motel room until the landowner came a'knockin at his door and throw him out into the streets, chucking his burlap satchel over his head.

No good, low-life, spirit guzzling non-conformist.

Spitting out sand and dust, he rolled over on the dirt and hauled himself up over to the side of the saloon. Walked backwards all the way to his skimmer hidden in the butcher's back lot, and hurled into a bush at the thought of raw buffalo hanging from meat hooks.

He had a mighty fine death wish for carrying out his unspoken threat to Master Cyclonis. If only he hadn't dipped his fingers into the local bar with a Talon he couldn't remember the name of, he might have avoided the temper tantrums that followed with addiction. However, he smirked to himself as he pulled on the sliding door of the meat house and wondered why it wasn't opening.

The Talon was court marshaled three weeks later for drug possession. Dark Ace caught in the crossfire. He should've known.

Turning around, he pulled on the door and it magically opened. The overwhelming smell of meat struck his nostrils; mixed with the liqueurs he had for dinner and well – you know.

Crystals and women and wine. Hate them and love them. Can't live without them.

All he knew about the Zircon crystal was that it really wasn't a crystal at all. A mineral stone enhanced by Master Cyclonis to help reduce crystal consumption. It was all an experiment to date, and the largest piece of rock to have survived his master's curious tinkering. He had been jealous, without a core reason why, and took out his anger on the inanimate object – stole it and left her.

Stupid, really.

At least Zircon was pretty, in an obnoxious sort of way. It was a mild yellow, a blend between orange and red, and if he held it against the light, staring into the facets reminded him of Cyclonia. The wastelands. Furnaces. Heat and dust. Deserts and canyons. A girl with brown skin. A highly annoying laugh.

It always came back to the women. _Always. _


	26. Heart of Gold

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Twenty-Six: Heart of Gold )_

* * *

A man can survive for weeks without food, but he cannot live for several days without water.

Piper presses a damp cloth against his head; his forehead is so hot that the cold water becomes lukewarm in a matter of minutes and she has to re-soak it again. He prefers it this way, the benevolent solitude of the hotel room, the cherry-blossom rays of sun peeping through the blinds, the pattern of shadows on her concerned face.

She talks too much; talks about all his mistakes, his lack of control and his display of recklessness in the bar last night. Sighing, as if she does not know what to do with such a big child, she reaches behind her back and applies some medicinal balm to his lips. Piper. The girl who is always prepared.

He tries to tell her 'thank you' but his tongue lolls around helplessly in his mouth like flopping salmon on the rocks. Dark Ace pats all the sections of his purple face and winces at the tenderness of his skin. Ah, so that's why he can't speak. His upper lip is swollen.

"That must hurt something awful," she says, twisting the cap back on the salve and removes the washcloth from his brow. As she squeezes the excess water out, the droplets tinkle in his ear, similar to that of wind chimes as they hit the bottom of the hand basin. The sweetest sound in the world.

"I guess I'm stuck with you all day."

Twenty-four hours alone with her. The trade-off isn't so bad.


	27. Gunslinger

A/N: Finn gets to try some Steve Buscemi style.

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Twenty-Seven: Gunslinger )_

* * *

A hot wind blows tumbleweeds down the road; they bounce on the dirt and roll over in the air. The rattle of chains as a young man hitches up his belt and walks into a bar, tipping his hat off at all the scum inside, and pats two of them on the back as if they were familiars.

"Bartender! Give me some spicy water!"

Unimpressed, the bartender throws down his rag and sloppily pours some beer into a mug without taking his eyes off the blond. With a thunk, he places the drink in front of him.

The boy drinks, smacks his lips, and loudly declares it's the best beer in the world. All the other customers, who have turned around in their seats to glare at the newcomer, sneer with the gleam of murder in their eyes. Several of them stand up and flex tobacco-stained fingers at their hips.

"I'm serious man! This is some serious shit!"

One patron, who harbours a deep resentment towards folk who can't abide to the code, grips the boy's shoulder and squeezes it hard. The whelp whimpers and points at the other man's hand.

"Might not want to do that. I've got a bruise the size of a grapefruit and besides – you'd want to keep your hands to yourself. Er, not like _that_ – but I'd sure have my drink then book it out of here real soon."

The bartender interjects the possibility of a future brawl with a black, curled eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"Because, He's here. He's coming_._ A buddy of mine barely made it out of the last terra he shredded. No one else was left alive."

The bartender takes away Finn's mug even though it is still half full. All of a sudden, the rumours start smelling true. The boy frowns and tries to take the beer back. A towel thwacks his eager fingers.

"Tell me who's coming."

The loss of the drink affects the blond more than his news. He's just here to pay his last respects to an old hypothetical friend, and possibly scare the crap out of these scumbags. The change of clothes and the quick scuffle with Aerrow, in addition to the bruise from Dark Ace makes his story all the more believable.

Suckers.

"You don't know?" He slams his palm upon the counter and laughs heartily. Resentful man looms over him, looking ready to strangle his white privileged neck.

"Nuh-huh. Like I said earlier, you'd better keep your hands for when that bastard gets here. Well, thanks guys, but I think I'm gonna head on out." He reaches into his pocket and hands the bartender a note that is far too generous. "Oh really, don't thank me. I'm just here, saving your lives before the Dark Ace whips all of your asses."

Silence.

Heavy breathing.

A scrawny man, so frail a cactus needle could defeat him, raises a shaky hand and whispers to Finn.

"_The Dark Ace?"_

"Yeah."

"But… he's _dead." _Dead drunk is what he means. The blond swivels around on the bar stool. Leans forward and stares into his watery yellow eyes. Gone is all the horseplay, the lick for a stiff drink. His voice resonates like steel as he utters the feared name.

"Yeah, that's right. The Dark Ace. He's in this quadrant, he's coming, and _he's collecting names._"


	28. Mirage

A/N: This digression is the result of listening to The Gipsy Kings. More Rumba Flamenca than Western, and imaginary!Piper is definitely older.

**The Man with No Name**

( Part Twenty-Eight: Mirage )

* * *

_Red. I like this colour. Maybe it looks good on me and I should wear it more often, but never in front of you._

_You pretend to stand in the shadows of this room, but I can see the light settling upon your shoulder. I can trace the line that starts at the nape of your neck, just below your hairline, all the way down the muscles of your long back. I stop just above the hips, too embarrassed to go any further._

_Unlike you, I love the light. I'm standing in it right now. And I know you know you can't your eyes off of me._

_You're moving._

_If I said your gait was reminiscent of a panther's, would you get offended? Because that's what you are, a cat. A large, ebony feline with five-inch claws and a mouth salivating for raw meat. Hot blood. A dangerous, moody man. A man with no home._

_The tempo of the room, this song, spins faster and it makes me careless. Rotation. Gyration. It's the tambourine, it's the castanets. It's the injustice that I am affected and you are not. There is a growing blush on the apple of my cheeks as I remain in the white hotness of the light, while you stay cool in the dark._

_I have never danced before. I don't want to be the next little bird to kiss your mouth. _

_Our bodies move closer as the three guitars strum quicker. Our difference in height is apparent; I barely reach the line of your shoulder._

_Is that a problem? Tell me it isn't._

_Sweat is rolling down your skin, covers your sideburns when you raise my hand high above my head and twist me around. I can't be afraid because I know who you are. Your hand is on my hip, and my leg wraps around your waist. No inhibition. I pull your neck closer to my face as your fingers slide down my thigh and stroke the back of my knee._

_Tell me, what kind of woman would have the courage to fall in love with you?_

_Could I be that woman?_

_Your breath sears my skin as you bend me over and the tips of my blue hair brush the hardwood floor. Warmth pools in my stomach as your red eyes graze an imaginary line up my chest before you crouch over and whisper into my delicate ear._

"No, you could never be her."


	29. Jill

A/N: I rewatched _Once Upon a Time in the West_ yesterday. It's my favourite Western to date.

**The Man with No Name**

( Part Twenty-Nine: Jill )

* * *

_She stole his heart and branded it hers with a red hot iron poker. Marked him forever, and forever is a long stretch of the stars for someone inexperienced in love. _

_He leaned over her; an ungloved hand caressed her thick, auburn hair and marveled at the unbelievable softness of it. It must take her a long time to look pretty, even if she did fix herself up for someone who wasn't him.  
_

_He never felt so deeply about anyone before, never cared so strongly. Feelings drowned in a well of emotions so pure and clear it actually hurt. _

"_I could make you a widow, you know." _

_Her dark eyes painted with purple shadow smiled up at him as she touched his cheek fondly. He always was her favourite, he knew that. The world did funny, cruel things to her. In time, those same things would happen to him.  
_

"_Don't do that, darling. You know I won't be going anywhere."_


	30. Massacre

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Thirty: Massacre )_

* * *

A Captain several years his senior saluted him in the proper manner. Stating his name, he fell into place behind the Dark Ace as the young Talon parted the crowds with his domineering presence.

"Did anyone survive, Captain?"

The officer shook his head. "No, sir. We've only just retrieved their bodies from the wreckage."

Pulling back the tent flap, Dark Ace stepped into the makeshift shelter with his guide in tow. In the middle of the rectangular room were five long tables with five bodies. His mouth felt dry like stuffed cotton.

"What did the doctor say?"

"They'll start conducting the autopsies once they have your permission."

His boots made crunching sounds on the gravel as he looked at the faces on the tables, one by one. Funeral biers, all of them. Death could not wipe the hope from their features. In their last moments of battle, their faces retained vestiges of their personalities, and he could identify each one. He was brave, she was foolish, and the third was routinely optimistic. He stopped at the last two.

"Leave us."

"Yes, sir."

Alone. He passed a weary hand over his eyes and let out a great sigh. Sank down to his knees, and pressed his helmet against the metal table. Wore his riding gloves. The team was found in the Wastelands, and he was contacted right away, but this improvised room felt cold.

The minutes sighed and he finally stood up. His shoulders sagged with years of unwanted weight when his fingertips connected with the back of her hand. In that small, apologetic gesture, all her worries transferred onto him.

Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were stained with the dark blush of dried blood. He searched her face for signs of forgiveness. Strands of blackened, matted hair cracked under the leather when he pushed them away from her pallid face. Skin so white it looked brittle. His thumb pad brushed against the swell of her lips and he felt the sharp pain of a lover as an overwhelming sadness pervaded the air.

Her head lolled to the side where the last body lay, as if she were reaching for him, longed to hold him for the eternity in the dark. She was asking for the absolution of her soul from the husband whom she had taken for granted. The look on her face had a name, and it was called sorrow.

Something inside of him fractured and broke. He dropped her hand, allowed her wrist to fall hard against the metal surface, and walked out.

He was the other man after all.


	31. A Dimly Lit Room

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Thirty-One: A Dimly Lit Room )_

* * *

He wakes up to the sound of male laughter in the hallway, their boots click along the floorboards as they pass the partially-secluded room without glancing inside. Finn and Aerrow. Their chuckles eventually die down.

Lying on a bed, the injured man attempts to sit up but a light pressure on his chest persuades him to back down. A sweet face, soft like the dawn, greets him.

"Piper?"

"Yes?"

She places one hand over his stomach as she props her chin up on his chest. He thinks someone must have slipped him some crazy pills, for there is no reason for all of this to be real. The female Storm Hawk is touching him willingly; it is unheard of. In an attempt to throw off potential gestures of affection, he remembers she possesses the now useless stolen crystal. It might be pleasant to touch her, but she will have to act first. Lies make him tired.

He whispers. "What are you doing here?"

She smiles. Concerned. "Looking after you."

There is an unfathomable look in her tangerine eyes, and the faint line on her brow reads like a sentence to a question he already knows the answer to. Reasons of anger, hatred, and betrayal. But Repton is gone, his alcoholism is cured (_please, let it be cured_), and she is safe. Where will he go now? Home is on the horizon, but he is not ready to go back yet.

"Are you here to kill me?" she asks solemnly, and buries her face into the crumpled sheets. Inhales deeply. He pretends she stayed with him all night. Raises a gloved hand, flexes his digits, and strokes the line of her jaw. The word _tenderly_, comes to mind, and Piper marvels at the bottomless mystery that is the Dark Ace. For once, she does not recoil at his touch. No longer does he stink of gin. His words, her answer, comes easily. Everything is done; the goodbyes are all that's left.

"No." His fingers comb through her hair as his other hand brings her closer. Her lip is worrying, and he habours the temptation to kiss her. "No, Piper. I'm not angry anymore."


	32. Searching for Home

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Thirty-Two: Searching for Home )_

* * *

Like the desert yearns for water, he will come back to her. Master Cyclonis has long since forgiven him, and eagerly awaits news of his arrival or capture. But bygones will be bygones, and the moment Dark Ace steps upon the red dirt of Cyclonian soil he will be thrown in jail for a limited amount of time, just enough to make an example of her power and a warning to those who should fall astray and bury their miseries in less than desirable compulsions. Mathematics and sheer numbers are not enough to wage a war, sharpness of mind and keen wit are her strongest weapons.

She calls Ravess into her antechamber and the pink-lipped Talon heeds her mistress's call. The commander kneels in front of the young girl with violet eyes and pale skin.

"Have you heard from Snipe yet?"

They are not sisters, but it is their concern for a singular man that brings them closer together. The older woman's voice betrays affection when she lowers her right hand from her heart and stands up. His presence is sorely missed; despite his shortcomings and previous lapses in judgment, he is still Cyclonia's champion.

"I've heard nothing, Master Cyclonis." Nothing from Snipe, the last man to see him – possibly the last man to contact him since his disappearance.

"Anything from Repton?"

Again, Ravess gives her answer. "No, not yet."


	33. Bang

A/N: Homage to The Eagles, their song _Desperado_, and Spike Spiegel.

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Thirty-Three: Bang. )_

* * *

There are two types of men to look out for. One makes a good girl go wild, while the other makes a woman want to tame his heart.

Both are equally dangerous, but pay heed to the latter.

( -Because an independent woman can make it on her own. My best friend's older sister's got the story, and she's livin' like a fancy gentlewoman up in Clearwater now. Got herself ten bags of gold, a carriage, and a dowry. Some lawyer wants to marry her, and any man who can get that lady to take on his name is a lucky lad.)

You want to be that woman, not the other one.

Mama always said don't look into their eyes. Not for one bit.

And Papa always said he'd rightly skin the hide off any man that tried to walk his daughter home.

Because it's the Devil's work to look into those black eyes of a wayward man, shameless and proud with a cold past to spare. You can't see it, but he's carrying baggage on that sun-tanned back of his, and his trigger finger is always at the ready. Men like that got death on their minds, and no good thing is going to make him stay.

And never, _never_ take the hand of a Desperado.

Maybe he'll sweet-talk you and the like out of the salon, a place where a gal like you got no place bein' at this time of night. Maybe he'll take up the old guitar in the corner, and play out a melancholy tune that gets all the patrons roaring for more ale to work up the tears of a life long past.

If you see him on the side of the road, tie your bonnet fast and turn your dainty chin the other way. Pretend you don't see his hitchhiker's thumb calling out for someone. Not the way the wind weaves through his unkempt hair, or that sardonic smirk on his face. It isn't you he's wanting, dear. Don't be takin' on his mantle. Turn away. Go on home. Forget everything like it was the dust.

They call him the Ace of Spades for a reason.

Don't look into those eyes, red eyes that stare blankly into the sunless void with a face that belongs in the future. Ten years ago, three years ago, one day ago –

Don't fall in love.

(The first woman he's loved is six feet under the ground. The first nail driven into his coffin. He was a youthful and arrogant soul. The latter remained.)

Don't fall in love.

(The second woman he devoted himself to tried to kill him. Stole something of hers he had no right stealing, and out of jealousy or spite, he ran away with it. She's got a heart like a blood diamond.)

_Don't fall in love._

(There will be no third woman. They _forbid_ you to be the third woman. Don't be a fool, child, and go home to your friends. The air is where you belong, not down here.)

It may be raining, but there's a rainbow above you.

(He wakes up to the sound of male laughter in the hallway- )

You better let somebody love you. (Don't be that woman.) You better let somebody love you. (_ I want to be that woman._ ) You better let somebody love you- (I want to be _that_ woman…)

"Piper."

"Yes?"

_Before it's too late._


	34. Crossroads

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Thirty-Four: Crossroads )_

* * *

In the middle of the main road, in an abandoned part of a mining town that has long since exhausted its main source of economic supply, two steel-toed boots squared off with a pair of long, sharp, lizard claws.

Behind one was a maiden, just a hair's breadth from nineteen years of age. Her mouth gagged - hands and feet tied, Repton hauled her to her feet and dangled her in front of the man like a rack of tender lamb.

"If you want the girl, you have to get passt me firsst."

The man snorted.

"I only came for the crystal."

His eyes met hers, and in that flash of a moment, he told her she had nothing to fear from the Talon.

Piper felt like laughing, and her eyes sparkled like jewels underneath the bright, hot sun. Of course he had gone to her squad mates for help; of course he would track her down. Fear for her life was the least of her troubles.

It was what her heart yearned for while she was away that worried her next.


	35. Call Me, Call Me

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Thirty-Five: Call Me, Call Me )_

* * *

He wants to tell her, _"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart_."

Instead, he chucks her chin in a patronizing manner and feels the runway of age stretch between them. Her tangerine eyes are wide with youthful realization, and he recognizes the symptoms of a young girl star-struck with a crush. As much as this whole affair has been fun – and he uses that word sarcastically – the dream is ending and it's time to wake up with the barren and bitter dawn.

And Piper wants to say something to make him stay. Not for long, but just for a little while. She wants to know if he is all better and her knuckles tremble when she thinks about him with the bottle again.

He stands up and shuts the door with a well-aimed foot while she remains seated on the rumpled bed. Dark Ace arches his back twice, and rummages through the backpack hanging over the seat of a wooden chair in the corner. Memories of a time not so long ago weave along the upper rafters of the room like smoky curls from a burnt-out candle. It smells sweet and fills her lungs with a feeling akin to regret.

Gloved hands tear open her travel bag, and retrieve the yellow crystal inside. Drained of its power, his bargaining chip is lost in addition to a maimed and temporarily incapacitated Talon commander with a forked tongue.

He sighs and Piper offers a meek apology to stave off the twisting and turning in her gut when he shuts the blinds. The room is dark, and a shiver runs up her spine with a different type of blindness.

"Sorry about the crystal."

He sighs again as if he did not hear. She licks her lips and tries again, but he speaks and his tone of voice leaves no room for further questions.

"Fuck that. It ran out of juice some time ago." The stone already began to fade before she took it and left him with the mechanic.

"Dark Ace– "

But he snaps his fingers sharply to shut her up; twists the pale crystal between his fingers to secretly stare at her reflection mirrored in the lightly-coloured facets. He will never get used to his name on her tongue. It reminds him too much of honey for a parched man like himself.

She might want him to join the Storm Hawks, change his ways and become a good man. He can see it in her face, the hunch of her spine, but he knows the man she sees is not the man he is. Give it some time, maybe a few months, and she'll start to regret her decision.

He drops his hand and sneers at her. "Forget it, girl. You're not my type."

And Dark Ace watches her hopes crumble like a faulty tower of rocks.


	36. Expectations

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Thirty-Six: Expectations )_

* * *

So much to do. So much wasted time.

Secretly, he's proud of her for not giving into fear, proud she is one of the few individuals who is able to see the vulnerable side of him, and yet afraid for that same reason. Every once in a while, his fingers twitch for a drink and his stomach grumbles at odd times in the night. The shakes come.

The Storm Hawks haven't left yet. Something about wanting to check out the terrain and the old mining caves. That's fine by him; let those kids have their fun. If Master Cyclonis wants nothing to do with this ghost town, who was he to deny the curiousity of a couple of nosy brats?

_She_ goes with them. _She_ doesn't cry when he turns her down and inside out.

So he relaxes in his coveted room, stares at the ceiling and waits for his arm to heal.

She doesn't know it, but her wish is already granted.

_She_ is his.

And what is his, he will never forget.


	37. What you deserve

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Thirty-Seven: What you deserve )_

* * *

Two packages will be sent to Cyclonia via railway. Junko's mighty brow furrows in question when Aerrow gives the go signal, and asks whether it is humane to stuff the leader of the Raptors inside a burlap mail bag covered in all sorts of postage stamps before it reaches its final destination.

Finn snickers. Of course it's appropriate, someone working as hard as Repton deserves a vacation. Visit as many terras as possible before he reaches Master Cyclonis's front door.

The redhead turns towards Dark Ace and silently gains his approval with a single arched brow.

"Go ahead, Junko."

The wallop's guns bulge with the hefty weight. "If you say so, Aerrow. MAIL HOOOOOO!"


	38. Letters

**The Man with No Name**

( Part Thirty-Eight: Letters )

* * *

_It's been a long time coming. I should have written you sooner, but hell got in the way._

Ravess searches the envelope thoroughly; adamant there is more to the letter than just two sheets of papers with handwriting on one side.

_Tell her I'm sorry, but she's not getting the crystal back. It's useless now, which I'm sure she knows, but anyway…_

The commander smiles at the words. For such a moody man, he rambles on with his notes.

_The bounty is null and void once I turn myself in. _

When is he coming home?

_It's almost ten months since I left._

Idiot, it's almost a year. Stupid man can't even do his mathematics right.

There is more in the letter, but the single paragraph is saturated with needless words and sentiments. This is his way to express emotion, for Dark Ace is unable to speak feelings of apology out loud. He whines, he complains, but regret is rarely written on his face. It makes these pieces of paper all the more precious.

He gives no location, but says he is still in the boonies. Much is left out of his tale, and the holes are so big she can stick her entire arm inside, but is content with promised package. Master Cyclonis will be pleased that one of her two missing commanders will be returning soon.

_I had some help out here. Taken in by some mechanic. Son of a bitch made me clean his entire shop twice before whipping my ass back into shape, all because I told him he makes the worst goddamn pot roast ever._

Ravess laughs and closes the letter while the last inscription burns happily into her mind.

_He sends his regards._


	39. Thunderstorm

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Thirty-Nine: Thunderstorm )_

* * *

And he whispers, "Mine."

The sound of her breathing as she lies on her stomach next to him. The stifling movement of the circulating fan renders him immobile as he counts the rhythmic clicks inside his head. The weather outside is suitable, if not a perfect accompaniment for events which occur inside.

Smooth, young, and naked. She may be halfway between dreaming and sleeping, or on the verge of waking up. The air is hot - the room is unbearably humid. Several hours ago, a gathering of dark clouds thunder just above the canyons. They sweep the dry brush and dust away with a thick curtain of loud, merciless rain.

Goosebumps form on his arms, he scratches his chest absentmindedly. His stomach is a mess of sailor's knots as the blood within his veins flow hotly. Closed windows and doors make an island out of an isolated bed.

The glass pane of solitude cracks with a single word. "Mine."

She is already awake. She nuzzles her face into the pillow as he massages the small of her back, spreads his fingers like a growing starfish. She loses her breath when the arch of his palm catches the sheets and drags them higher up her waist. Ten toes emerge from the edge of the bed, and she rubs them together to keep warm.

"Good morning," he murmurs; slips a hand underneath the pillow and squeezes her fingers ardently. There is the memory of curious yet eager hands, the passionate exchange of kisses in the dark, and the delicious texture of swollen, sensual lips. Her body responds favourably when he rolls his hips against her tender bottom. Moans softly when he starts to grind a little harder. More pressure.

Breathless words escape her mouth. Her mind fogs up like a window full of hot steam. He feels as if he has jumped off a cliff, against the background of a waterfall and taken a plunge into a lake of cold water. The fan clicks mechanically for another turn and room lights up with the brilliant flash of the storm. For a moment, their silhouettes paint the wall with an image of unbridled intimacy.

She speaks. "How long has it been raining?"

He tells her the truth. "Not long enough."


	40. Paper Cuts

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Forty: Paper Cuts )_

* * *

She wants something she cannot have. He will be leaving soon, and his lack of presence twists the knife in her gut. A tempest brews inside.

"What was her name?" Piper pushes him down on the bed and attempts to distract him with her mouth. He tilts his head back against the headboard, and closes his eyes solemnly when her lips caress the base of his neck. Thank god it's still raining.

_What will happen to us? What will happen to me? _After that first night, he does not sleep with her again. (Tells her not to.) Rule number one, don't fall in love. Rule number two, get out as fast as you can. He refuses her advances with lust behind his eyes, and wipes his mind like a wet chalkboard when his self-discipline breaks thin. His arms reach for her waist, his red eyes burn hungrily.

Insecurity shapes in her brain when he starts to hide secrets from her again. So much for promises – if he refuses to lie to her, he simply hides his head in the dirt. Yellow-bellied coward. _Talon_. Her fourteen year-old self is right all along. He has no heart; it is not his to give. Torn in three, it belongs to other women - convinced they are far more deserving than she. He cannot even say _her_ name lest he be bound to it.

The girl breathes heavily, lies on his chest and longs to hold his hand. Small gestures of affection, is it too much? Aches. Silently, he unravels the secret to their union. Where he has grown strong, she has become weak. He is like a parasite, feeding off the emotions of others in order to survive through the years. Takes what he wants, and leaves chaos behind.

She envies Master Cyclonis. Envies all the women who are able to see him. Once he returns to Cyclonia, there will be no kind word for her – no reward. He traces her earlobe, and her body turns into jelly. Starts to loathe the way he makes her feel. Her price works the same way. She is a Storm Hawk, and she cannot be bought like a commodity.

"I need you." (Will you come with me?) She weighs the question similar to a bar of gold.

"There's a guitar downstairs, then you can play something for me."


	41. Waltz for Zizi

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Forty-One: Waltz for Zizi )_

* * *

She takes a candle into the room, places it on the coffee table where the meager light exposes all the worn, bare spots of the wood. He sits on an overturned plastic milk crate, which she believes must be uncomfortable. When he points at the couch to hand him one of the cushions she knows he is in one of his vulnerable states, and will only speak a few select words to satisfy her curiosity.

For a while, she sits on the floor, her heels digging into the rugs, as she listens to him. She fidgets, and soon retires to the couch where she can stretch her legs lengthwise and tuck her hands beneath her head – her posture a manner of sleeping.

Guitar strings make her eyes drowsy and her lids begin to droop. Sometimes he plays with a pick, but mostly he likes to pluck the threads with his fingers. Flickers of light play across his face - a room that feels so old – a place of spider webs and dust motes.

Playing tricks with the shadows, pretending to see sentiments that aren't there; the spaces, the moments known as sunrise and sunset twirl in her mind. A lady of class, wearing light pinks, dancing with a man beyond her time. A classic lullaby. A love story for the ages.

_When I grow old, when you look at the stars, will you remember me?_

"It's getting late, you should be in bed." The parental role is an ill-fitting suit for him. The shape is all wrong – he is trying too hard.

"I'm old enough to make my own decisions, thanks."

He says nothing more and goes back to his music. Stops the song, readjusts his pose, and turns his knees in the direction of the burning candle. She brought only one.


	42. Gamble

**The Man with No Name**

( Part Forty-Two: Gamble )

* * *

_The sky is changing colour, the clouds are parting, and the desert is returning to life again. Cacti bloom overnight while prairie dogs migrate towards the water holes. The earth is moving. Where will you be when all of this occurs?_

Inside. Indoors where it's safe, where tinted panes of glass hide me - a drunk curled inwards beneath the floorboards of an empty saloon - the daytime.

_She loves you, they all loved you. You've made mistakes before, why should this girl be any different? Three primary colours of red, yellow, and blue. Shot them all. Killed the women so you could be set free._

You're twisting the story another way. I was young then, just a teenager. I wasn't sober before, but I am now. You know the game, bad guys can't feel this way. I am the Dark Ace, nothing gets past me. No one.

_What about her? What about him? Ravess. Faroe. You call yourself a bad guy. Bad guys can fall in love. _

And then they die. Tragically.

_Red Yellow Blue – three women to haunt you._

That's not funny.

_Regressing…_

I'm not a teenager anymore.

_Regretting…_

Damnit, Piper's not supposed to be a teenager!

_Forgetting…_

Stop. Stop right there. I didn't forget – I won't.

_Blue Yellow Red. Red Yellow Blue. Three women all for you._

He left Piper sleeping on the couch, returned the borrowed guitar and buckled the case. If only she were born Cyclonian, if only her present self existed more than a decade ago. His life would have been different. A life under different circumstances.

But dreams were wishes meant for lovers. Kisses caught in the hand blistered his palm until he released them to the stars. He checked to see if she still slept, checked to see if she would wake up.

_( Just once, enjoy the time you have with her. )  
_

He said it before; perhaps fortune would permit him another opportunity to say it again._ "If I had the chance, I'd kiss you outside. Kiss you like I want you. Out there, in the rain."_

"I love you."


	43. In the span of thirty six hours

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Forty-Three: In the span of thirty-six hours ) _

* * *

_**Drip. Drip. Drip.**_

Listen. The rain, softer than before. It taps on the rooftops, runs down the gutters, sliders over the single-pane windows, and pools in her heart. A lake from the tundra, it is hardly recognizable now. He shaves in the bathroom, a towel over his shoulders. The scrape of a sharpened blade across wet skin alternates with the echo of a leaky faucet. Faulty plumbing. Outside, the water is too strong, and drowns the words she is meant to hear.

She stops labeling the days of the week, and the hours assimilate one into the next, watching house with a Talon over a day of exploration in the mud. Plays with her toys, crystals he doesn't want to touch, but finds herself sitting on a wooden chair with her legs close and her knees just underneath her chin. Day is one shade lighter than night, and she misses the contrast of the endless stars against the sky. The wind, the dust. The time. Gray clouds take his sunshine and diamonds away. A vacation past its expiration date; a girl to love – where is it all now?

Blood mingles with a stream of water, swirls a light pink as it goes down the drain.

_**Drip.**_

_**Drip.**_

Stop, Living memories in a ghost town.


	44. Sagebrush

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Forty-Four: Sagebrush )_

* * *

_Cyclonia_. The name is a smoldering light at the end of a cigarette butt, the thick smoke in a cheap neon-lit bar. The man from the saloon snaps onto her wrist and twists her out of the chair, forcing her to the far side of the room. Just enough time for a single breath – she exhales, feels the water and the air squeeze out of her lungs before he is behind her again. He pushes her forward mercilessly, and her automatic reaction is to snarl – they run down two flights of stairs. The friction rubs between them like the beginnings of a sandstorm.

"Down," he commands, just like in the days when they had separate agendas, back when he was a stranger she could not trust. He was bad and she was good. Simple as that. Before all of the sideshows, the bandwagons, the confusion of love.

_Give me the crystal and I'll spare your life. _That kind of man, that sort of deal.

The desert is flourishing all around them, and the plants and wildflowers burst into a foreign mixture of muted pastel colours after the rainstorm. He smells vanilla beans, closely accompanied by the feel of cotton. Rippling mud puddles, murky surfaces broken by wayward mosquitoes, splash all over his uniform as he plows through them and soils his thighs with the wet earth.

"Up," he says abruptly, but in gentler tones and brushes the blue hair obscuring her eyes. Cradles her face between his hands and tilts her chin up, towards the break in the clouds. There are colours in the sky. No more rattlesnakes in the grass, and its high time they leave town.


	45. Desert Primrose

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Forty-Five: Desert Primrose )_

* * *

This moment of memories, this stolen kiss between the pages of the Bible, is written with the age of storms. Piper shuts her eyes, black eyelashes blink rapidly as she commits the feel of his lips to her personal archives, stores it with his other letters. Silently weeps for her inevitable loss.

Arms clutching, mouths moving, he whispers into her ear promises he cannot possibly keep; drunk with her liqueur, intoxicated with delusions of a starry dream, a world so lonely when a town inhabits more than two deserters. The heat creates lovers; the terra leaves them to die.

It'll stop raining soon, it always does.


	46. Tombstone

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Forty-Six: Tombstone )_

* * *

Sand inside an hourglass only worked one way; gravity pulled it down. No machinery conceived from the dark bowels of Cyclonia could hold the hands on the face of a clock, nor could a crystal stop the cells in the human body from aging. All Cyclonis's magicks could do was delay or accelerate the currents, concentrate and direct the flow of war from one terra to another, and reap the results like mine owner in search for gold. She held his contract for years, but never tightened her grip until the night he took the first drink, the first step into descent.

As mistress of the house, it was her responsibility to keep her officers in line. As master, it was her calling to send out punishments. Without the helmet, Dark Ace sweated constantly; beads as thick as marbles rolled down his angled cheeks, and perspiration was no friend. The furnaces were impartial to human emotions although human hands fed them, and often he wandered down to the boilers, dared to stand as close as he could before his vision blurred and the heat liquefied his bones.

The man hated anniversaries, feared the emotion called regret and sought to mask the pain once the month ended and another started anew. Memory was a mustard seed, a sheltered closet for the woman he knew many years ago. Life had been exciting and wickedly dangerous then, having just shown his native colours - _TRAITOR!_ - of his home terra whose hard soil matched his red eyes.

Perhaps that was why the terra tundras appealed to him, an inhospitable land many overlooked, where the red clay marked his fingertips a dark orange before he wiped the earth on his pants. The heat of the day was conducive for sleeping, while the cooler nights permitted him access to numerous bars. The constant competition between wet and dry, the extreme mood swings of a drunken man rang loud as a church bell as he held onto the pendulum and hoped to drag it down. The impossibility to stop time and reminisce in sorrow. Mental images, photographs of secrecy and untamed love, and old scars turned fresh with every shot of bourbon he ordered. What a fool he was, and such a man.

And he found his youth, he decided, in a Storm Hawk. For seven glorious hours, with his eyeballs steeped in whiskey, he was in the care of a female who – just like the first woman – wanted nothing to do with him. Tried his hand at poker, gambled, and won. It was their suits, he realized, that led him to victory. It was their hearts.

He liked woman who knew what they wanted in life, who could keep several men in line without losing their heads in battle. They earned his respect, and he respected them in turn. However, twenty-twenty eyesight failed to predict the consequences. His instant attraction with an auburn-haired woman, a ring on her finger, who thought of him as a brilliant pilot but nothing beyond. Never a follower of conventions, she eased up her judgments when he pursued her, and initiated the affair. Once, when they were drinking coffee, she confessed it was his eyes that made her wary. Reminded her of a type who would come through the door and leave again, and she disliked those kinds of people. Departures made her sad.

_"You'd never leave us, would you?"_

Collections were something of an obsession with him, along with the necessity to be the best. Everything had a rank, every man had a place, and the boy who grew into Dark Ace couldn't be content with being second-best. Another chance to love, a third person to protect – he was not a generous person to even think about sharing Piper. Proud to a fault, only two options were acceptable: gain or lose. If he could not have what he wanted, his opponent (and there always was one) laid a hand on the spoils. (Not that women _were_ spoils, but it was a metaphor he liked.) His occupation was his life, and his two-choice theory applied to everyone.


	47. Pale Rider

**A/N:** This weekend one of the tv networks showed "Pale Rider." I got funny chills down my spine when Megan said she loved Preacher – and kissed him!

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Forty-Seven: Pale Rider )_

* * *

Before he called, his profile card in her memory bank was sparse. A face, a title, and a terra. Now flashcards overflowed like a geyser, crowded her brain space and every mouthful held a watery reflection of the Dark Ace. He was like a child who yearned for praise; she sat by him and tended to his fever. The ability to create maps evaded him.

He was a teenager once. Battle experience scolded her for her indiscretion, told her age constantly mattered. Names, like geography, were important, and she had to be the grown-up one. The idea of leaving him pained her; this was just her first time.

She wished her friends would return quickly. Minutes like hours in a room without clocks made a little girl blue if she couldn't see the sun. He was fed up with her then, her eyes flickered over to the bandage on his chin where he cut himself shaving, he stormed into her room and ushered her outside.

No more full-bodied harvest moons. No sweet violin to dance to. Imagination ran weak as the barren dirt dusted her hands with a yearning to grab onto his waist and hoist herself up on his polished Switchblade – off to a new adventure. Make it rain in another town.

He kissed her, and she supposed it was for good luck, but somehow it felt wrong. He wanted her to remain, but she would abandon her family again. The Talon would leave his card, beckon her to come again, but this time the stay would be much longer. She couldn't do it, the rent was too high.

_"Someday a man's gonna come along, the right man…"_


	48. Drought

**The Man with No Name**

( Part Forty-Eight: Drought )

* * *

"And don't tell me you love me. Don't tell me you adore me. Tell me only that you will stay. One life with me." (Salma Hayak, _Quedate Aqui_)

. . .

_I don't know how to play the guitar. For all of my talents, musicianship isn't one of them. You're sleeping now, one arm above your head while the other hangs by your side. You're such a restless guy. When your eyes are closed, I can almost trust you. So many things about you with the way you make me believe._

_And I think –_

_I think I know her, this woman who first broke your heart. She was something special, wasn't she? There, my rhetorical question. She hurt you real bad if one memory causes you to act this way. I want to say she didn't deserve you, tell you that you don't need her, but I can't be sure of that. You won't tell me her name, and I'll live not knowing yours._

_I just have tonight. Laying with you in the dark with a lullaby of a storm to rock me to sleep. Shuffle the deck, and hide the Queen of Hearts._


	49. Cancion Del Mariachi

A/N: One more chapter to go! :D

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Forty-Nine: Cancion Del Mariachi )_

* * *

"Hang on to me, girl. I don't want you falling off."

She nods and blows the hair out of her face as he hunches forward on the bike a little more. Taking nothing but herself, she laughs hysterically when he executes a perfect donut ring before speeding up again. They ride for hours, never stopping to rest. Piper knows this place; the familiar line of canyons preceding the train tracks. Clearwater is two days ahead.

They race against the storm clouds, out of the town and its empty mines, where they can just be two people enjoying the wind and the sand. There is no real destination in sight; it's the ride that matters.

Piper shifts a little closer, wraps her arms a little tighter, and sighs seductively into his ear. Nibbles on the lobe. She knows which buttons to press and Dark Ace shudders in delight. Closes his eyes momentarily and can't wait for the first sign of the stars. She's perfect.

"You're a trouble maker, stranger."

He throws his head back and grins like a coyote. "_I know_."


	50. Let Love Reign

A/N: Thanks for reading, everyone! It sure was fun. :D

**The Man with No Name**

_( Part Fifty: Let Love Reign )_

* * *

They exchange an ordinary goodbye, the type to occur between two friends, when he hands her the train ticket and stands on the platform. Since she has no money, and his saddlebags are packed for a week or two on the road, he purchases her voucher without hesitation and shoves the receipt in his pockets as they wait for the next scheduled departure.

Arms and legs akimbo, Dark Ace stands up behind her, slouches a little without the weight of his sword at his back, and eyes the other passengers as they crowd around Piper and usher her towards the entrance stands. Her feet drags; and impatient people shove past her to board. Finally, she picks up her heels and heads towards the doors. The last whistle calls.

The conductor is nearby; his polished boots click smartly as he double-triple checks the cars to make sure all is in working order. Meanwhile, the Cyclonian remains still, and replays the instant – just a few seconds ago – the moment Piper hops over the last step and swings herself over to an open window.

"Goodbye," she says as elbows jostle her sideways, and Dark Ace wants to yell, "Good. Now find your seat!"

Her friends will come pick her up at the next town, considering the telegraph she sent this morning will reach them in time. If not, she will have to wait in one of the local taverns.

It's strange to imagine Piper entering a bar without him already there. But there is no prick of worry regarding her safety, at least, not anymore. If he had the initiative, he would have realized the only hazard to her well-being was his person, but honestly, it is beyond his capacity to think so. The outcome of their time together leaned heavily towards his benefit, and therefore it must be good.

She keeps waving, a small brown hand obscured by heat and smoke as the engineer shouts "All Aboaard!" The wheels of the black express churn madly which results in several tons of billowing smoke – he is standing too close, steam threatens to burn his face – and Dark Ace retreats several paces back. The monotonous fog deceives. Cries of 'farewell and good luck' on both sides of the platform diminish Piper's voice. They swallow her person until she is part of the ruckus.

She hopes to see his face in the chalky mist before she sends her farewell.

And all he wants to hear is her calling his name. His true name, but knows she can't. His boots ache to run across the smooth floorboards, throw caution and identity over his shoulder and sprint along the tracks. However, his arms are firmly clamped to his sides and all he can manage is a seemingly impartial, single "Bye."

That evening, he parks his beloved Switchblade just outside a large outcropping of rocks, and starts a fire using some dry fagots and the dead twigs of a nearby bush. It burns a deep orange and the middle is a mixture of hot yellow-white. Dark Ace tosses a few more branches into the pit to keep away the night scavengers planning to sneak up on his camp while he dozes.

He'll admit, the colour of the flames reminds him of her warmth.

Dinner is a meager affair, but he doesn't feel so lonesome. Instead, he reclines on his mattress, propped up against a gray boulder, and gazes up at the stars. _This is the life,_ he thinks, _I've found my peaceful, easy feeling._

The wireless transmitter in one of his saddlebags crackles with an incoming message from Faroe. He exchanges brief words with the damn mechanic who interrogates him on his whereabouts. What day and what time will he drop by? Did he stop Repton? Where the hell was the cured bacon? The Talon rolls his eyes dramatically and sighs into the mouthpiece.

_Hey Faroe, why don't you tell me I'm just eating you out of house and home?_

_What time, Ace?_

_You'll know when I know, old man._ Click. The transmission is cut off.

Dark Ace ruffles his hair, stretches his back, and gazes over at his bike. The Switchblade is dirty and her oil is good, but nothing beats a little tune up at the shop. Faroe will likely go on a head hunt once he sees her condition in the garage, but he'll slave away for hours until she looks factory-new.

The velvet curtain falls, and the tundra serenades him with the sounds of the night time. Hard to believe last night he and Piper camped under the stars and shared a sleeping bag. She fell asleep before him, something he found amusing considering _he_ was the one who usually passed out early – back when he was drunk.

Dark Ace surprises himself when he laughs.

He thinks about her now, calculates two hours ago the train reached its destination. Imagines her getting out of her seat, berate herself for not taking her backpack and staff along, and hops off the steps where her teammates are waiting for her. It's about time she comes home.

The fire crackles. He'll wake up early tomorrow, just before sunrise, so he can see the orange in the sky. She'll be there, he's sure, up in the clouds where they belong. He knows Piper's an early riser. He knows she will look down at the desert and hope to locate his telltale tracks. He'll be there soon, but for now, he's got a few more letters to deliver and an old friend to annoy.

_So tell me have you ever really – really, really ever loved a woman?_

You want to know her name, girl? Piper. Her name is Piper.

_Well, have you?_


End file.
